Timeline
by Starzangel
Summary: Tom Paris is having disturbing dreams & visions about an unknown alien species. He knows things about Tira, an alien girl he's never met. Do Tira & her race really exist? *Sadly unlikely to ever get finished - sorry!*
1. Part One

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Disclaimer: Sadly, none of _Star Trek: Voyager_ is mine. I have only borrowed the concept and characters to have fun (but gain no profit) writing this story, which _is_ mine.

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Archive: If you're not FanFic.Net, then please ask first via submitting a review (leave your email address & I'll get back to you - and probably say "Yes!").

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Author's Note: This story is set late season 6.

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Star Trek: Voyager

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Timeline

By

Starzangel

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PART ONE

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**__**

Stardate: 53942.4

"Long-range sensors are picking up a vessel ahead, Commander," Ensign Kim reported from the ops station.

Lieutenant Paris's fingers didn't falter as they continued to dutifully dance across the helm console. However, his pupils dilated ever so slightly as he, along with the rest of _U.S.S. Voyager_'s bridge crew, instantly came alive with apprehension and excitement at Harry's words.

"Identification?" Chakotay asked.

"Unknown, sir," Kim replied.

"Dist- "

Suddenly, a huge green and silver subspace distortion appeared. The bright light swirled wildly, towering above them in the centre of the main screen.

In a flash it was gone.

Then, without warning, an invisible shockwave slammed into _Voyager_. The starship bucked, bursting conduits and tossing her crew around.

In front of Tom Paris, the helm console emitted a spray of sparks and came rushing towards him. Its flickering lights glared into his eyes, until he felt a sharp pain in his forehead, then all he knew was darkness that gave way to nothingness.

.

Captain Janeway stumbled out of her ready room onto the bridge.

"Report!" she ordered, shouting over the disarray.

Around the captain her crew struggled. A fire extinguisher hissed as a staggering Tuvok put out a fire at the tactical station. Harry Kim reached up a hand, grasped the edge of his console, and unsteadily pulled himself to his feet. Chakotay was slumped on the floor, his back against his chair, holding his spinning head with both hands.

"Chakotay, what happened?" Janeway asked, urgently.

He groaned, meekly.

She turned to the main screen, as _Voyager_ shuddered. Static overlaid tilting stars.

At the helm Tom Paris's head rested against the console, eyes closed and blood trickling from a nasty head wound.

Beneath Janeway the ground slipped sharply to the right. She gripped hold of the helm to prevent herself falling down. Tom's limp body rolled towards her, smearing blood across the console. Then the ship tilted to the left and Paris slid the other way, his head bumping across the controls.

Concern knitted Janeway's brow as she clutched the console with one hand and reached over to her pilot with the other. Trembling fingers searched for a pulse in his neck.

She felt rather weak but regular heartbeats and relief washed over her.

The ship jolted violently again.

"Lieutenant, wake up!"

Shudders rippled through the swaying ship.

"_Tom!_" Janeway called, urgently, and squeezed his shoulder.

The blond-haired lieutenant didn't stir.

__

Voyager tipped further to the left and her bow rose upwards. As she fell against the helm, Janeway heard Harry groan and beside her Tom tumbled limply to the floor.

She needed to stabilise the ship.

Using both hands she pushed herself upright and surveyed the top of the console. Swiftly she tapped in commands, praying that the ship would respond.

__

Voyager obligingly righted herself, albeit jerkily.

Janeway was dimly aware of Tom groaning at her feet while she struggled to keep the ship in a stable position.

.

Tom Paris opened his eyes in a haze of pain, his head spinning. He stiffly sat up, which fiercely increased the symptoms for several seconds before they lessened, freeing his mind from the fog. Fighting down nausea, he struggled to his feet and held onto the helm chair to stop himself swaying. The console in front of him blurred twice before he was able to focus clearly and discern what needed to be done.

His fingers quickly stumbled across the familiar buttons, falling into step next to Janeway's.

__

Voyager stopped slipping and held a constant and correct position.

Captain Janeway let out a quiet, relieved sigh and gave him an appreciative smile.

Tom reached back, fumbling for his chair. His movements were wobbly as he sank down onto it, though the ship was now still. A shaky hand tentatively rose to his throbbing forehead and felt the wet and sticky blood trickling from the gash there. Tom closed his eyes, shutting out the spinning world.

He felt Janeway's hand on his arm and opened his eyes. The face that looked into his own was full of concern. Tom let his hand fall from his forehead.

Janeway touched his chin, gently tilting his head up so that she could inspect the bleeding gash better.

"That's a bad wound, Tom," the captain said, wincing with empathy.

"Yeah," he agreed, wearily.

"What _was_ that?" Chakotay asked, staggering to his feet behind them.

"A temporary subspace distortion followed by a shockwave," Tuvok answered.

"Status," Janeway ordered, turning around.

"There wasn't time to raise the shields, Captain," Kim told her, his tone apologetic. "Damage reports from all decks. Hull breach on deck nine, being sealed. Numerous casualties. And the warp core is offline."

Captain Janeway surveyed her crewmen's condition. Harry flexed a sore wrist a few times, then gave his full attention to his console. Janeway noticed the slightly dazed look in Chakotay's eyes and he kept a hand pressed against his left temple as he stepped up to join Kim at the ops station. Tuvok wasn't seriously hurt and was successfully suppressing any discomfort he did feel.

"Chakotay, go down to sickbay with Mr Paris and get your injuries treated," Janeway ordered. She turned to Paris, "Tom, remain down there. I'm sure The Doctor will need your services and it's not as if we'll be going anywhere for a while."

Tom nodded carefully and Chakotay went over to the helm to help him to his feet.

"The rest of you are to go over the sensor logs and find out what caused that subspace distortion," the captain continued.

Exhausted, Paris leant heavily on Chakotay who wrapped a supportive arm around him. Together they stumbled to the turbolift.

.

To say sickbay is busy would be an understatement, Chakotay mused as the doors slid open. 

Paris was uncomfortably heavy on his bruised shoulder and pain pulled at his left temple. He scanned the room for a place to release his load.

A young, fair-haired ensign, sitting up on a biobed holding a broken arm, noticed the new arrivals and drew up her knees to vacate the end of her bed. Smiling his thanks, Chakotay eased a weak and ashen Paris up. The lieutenant sat bent over with his legs dangling down the side of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, his forehead in his hands.

The girl noticed the blood seep between Lieutenant Paris's fingers and drip onto his lap. She took a wad of gauze from a nearby tray and slowly, being careful not to aggravate her injured arm, shifted around so that she sat next to Paris on the edge of the biobed. 

She lightly touched his shoulder. "Lieutenant." 

Paris looked up. "Here," she said, handing him the gauze.

"Thanks," he murmured, attempting a wan smile.

Tom pressed the material firmly against his bleeding forehead. He sat silently for a few minutes, eyes closed. Then sighed and muttered something unintelligible.

"What?" Chakotay asked, from where he leant against the wall.

Paris opened his eyes. "Tricorder," he mumbled. "Get me a tricorder. Please."

Chakotay's gaze searched the room but didn't see one not it use. However, the ensign obliged, finding one next to the tray of gauze.

Paris put down the now blood-soaked fabric. He pulled the mediscanner off the top of the tricorder and flicked it on. He ran it over himself, watching the results appear on the medical tricorder's screen. Making a diagnosis, Tom grunted and shut off the mediscanner.

He turned to the girl. "Dermal regenerator? Thanks."

Tom was about to apply the healing rays to his head when it was snatched from his hand.

"No self-diagnoses here, thank you, Mr Paris," _Voyager_'s Emergency Medical Hologram snapped.

The Doctor picked up the tricorder and scanned Paris. 

"Concussion and deep laceration. But not critical."

He expertly removed all trace of the wound with the dermal regenerator, then pressed a hypospray against Tom's neck.

The EMH's expression softened. "I would tell you to go lie down, but I need your help here. Do you feel up to it?"

Tom touched his healed forehead and felt the painkiller and stimulant in his bloodstream get to work.

"Sure," he said, slipping off the bed onto his feet.

The Doctor handed him the tricorder. "Begin with the commander and Ensign Watkins."

*

"Lights: dim," Tom Paris told the computer, as he stepped into his quarters. The bright glare hurt his tired eyes and spinning head.

It was four hours since the appearance of the subspace distortion. The crew's injuries were healed and the ship's repairs well under way. Paris had decided to take an early night, drained by the day's events.

His stiff and bruised muscles complained as he sank down onto his bed. He took off his boots and lay back. Wearily, he considered getting undressed, but couldn't find the strength to get up. The ceiling spun in front of his eyes for several minutes, his mind whirling too much to sleep, until eventually his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted off into slumber. . .

.

The corridor was dark. The only luminescence came from the stars shining though the narrow windows along the outside wall. It was beneath the windows, where the gloom was deepest, that Tom crouched, wide eyes flitting from left to right. The icy, stale air easily penetrated the thin, dirty, rag-like clothes that hung loosely over his malnourished frame, causing him to shiver convulsively. His empty stomach cramped with hunger and his mouth and throat were parched, his rapid breaths scrapped like sandpaper. In the shadows, he silently hurried further up the corridor. 

Suddenly, an ear-splitting squeal filled the passageway. 

He stopped, startled. 

Above his head the source of the noise, a communication grate, vibrated and static crackled. Then the harsh, cold voice of Commander Hane echoed down the corridor, "_We are approaching the alien starship. All hands to battle stations._"

His sore, callused hands clawed up the flaking brown paint on the wall as he slowly stood up to peer out a window.

In the glass he saw a reflection. The face that stared back at him could have been that of a pretty, twenty year-old Human girl, were it not for the two fox-like ears atop the head and the hairline that came down in a point between the eyebrows. Though her face was gaunt, thick hair shone red, gold and brown through layers of grime.

Xar-cet-Mir-ar Tira.

He knew her more than he knew himself.

Tira came from the planet Narcia and had been wrongly enslaved by the Narcian Empire Fleet. Her father was named Xar and her mother was Mir. 'Xar-cet-Mir-ar' meant 'Xar and Mir's'. On Narcia she'd trained Torells - dog-like animals - and had had a clear view of the setting of the two suns from her bedroom window.

Something caught his eye through the glass. It came closer and closer until he could clearly see the huge, white starship. 

The ship was familiar to him. . .it was _Voyager_.


	2. Part Two

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PART TWO

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**__**

Stardate: 53943.2

Paris was the last of the senior officers to arrive in the briefing room.

Janeway noticed that B'Elanna looked up quickly and anxiously on hearing her boyfriend's entrance. From where she sat at the head of the table, Captain Janeway watched her lieutenant with scrutiny as he approached. She knew him well enough after almost six years in the Delta Quadrant to instantly see that something wasn't quite right with him.

His tall frame was straight, but his feet only just managed not to scuff the floor. His blond hair was combed and he'd shaved, however under both blue eyes he had a smudge of dark purple and the eyes themselves were small and slightly shot through with red. His lips were parted a little to take in extra breath, and his pallor was paler than normal. Tom was tired and trying to hide it, she concluded.

As Paris took his place at the table, Janeway worried that he hadn't recovered from his injuries. She glanced at The Doctor. The hologram's eyes were giving the lieutenant a silent medical examination. He frowned ever so slightly, appearing to take mental notes, then his expression relaxed and he looked away.

Nothing serious then. Tom must've just had a poor night after the previous eventful day. She herself had slept rather restlessly.

.

Tom sat next to B'Elanna, tying to ignore the ache that stretched across his forehead temple to temple and hold up a façade of wellbeing.

B'Elanna squeezed his forearm gently, her eyes searching for his. He met her gaze and saw the concern and question in them. His lips curved into a small smile to reassure her that he was okay.

He'd been brusque with her earlier, telling her to go ahead and have breakfast without him. She had responded angrily in all her half-Klingon ferocity and stormed off to the mess hall. Now, it seemed, she'd thought about his abnormal behaviour and realised something was wrong. Anger had given way to concern.

.

Janeway started the meeting by first requesting a report from The Doctor. 

"Medical has no problems," the EMH informed her. "Yesterday's incident did not result in any deaths and only three crewmembers are on sick leave for the day."

"That's good news," Janeway said. Then she asked her officers, "What do we know about the subspace distortion?"

"Sensors recorded a large amount of neutrino emission due to the momentary appearance of a wormhole," Chakotay replied.

"The distortion was a change within the space-time continuum and sensors readings were too precise for it to have been a natural phenomenon," Seven of Nine added.

"However, there is no trace of a ship having come through," Kim said. "All that exited was energy."

"We cannot trace the origin of the wormhole, so it must be assumed that it came from the future," Seven said.

"Engineering status, B'Elanna?" Janeway asked her chief engineer.

"The surrounding space is littered with lots of tiny distortions. They are only micrometres in size, but are causing problems with antimatter containment. The warp core field is currently operating at only fifty-six percent of optimum efficiency," Torres answered. "I strongly don't recommend going to warp before we've managed to compensate for the distortions."

"What about this vessel ahead? What do we know about it?" the captain asked her tactical officer.

"Scans show the ship to be large and heavy with weaponry. It is currently orbiting an uninhabited M-class planet ahead of us," Tuvok replied. "I suggest that we wait until we have warp drive before making first contact."

"Agreed. We'll hold position here," Janeway responded. "Paris, you are to join Torres and Kim in engineering. I want a solution for those distortions. Dismissed."

*****

**__**

Stardate: 53944.5

The data on the screen blurred into incoherent smudges. Tom Paris lent against the engineering console and shut his tired eyes. He tried to rub the strain out of his forehead with a hand.

"Tom?" B'Elanna queried, worried.

He opened his eyes and turned to look at her from beneath his hand. "Hmm?"

"Tom, are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he lied, turning back to the console and reaching for a padd balanced on top of it. "What were the results for the third scan again?"

"Nominal."

"And the fourth showed a fluctuation of point zero two six. . .I mean, two four. . .four. . ."

"Point zero two four seven," Lieutenant Carey supplied. He glanced at Torres, whose expression mirrored his own concern for Paris.

"Are you sure you're alright, Tom?" B'Elanna asked. "Maybe you should go and lie down."

"I said, I was fine."

"But are you?" B'Elanna pushed. "You look exhausted."

"Aw, thanks, honey. You look great too." Tom's sarcasm was harsh.

"Tom," B'Elanna pleaded.

"B'Elanna," Tom responded, coldly.

The half-Klingon grew angry. "Fine!" she spat, turning away. "Reconfigure the sensors to run another test."

Regret for upsetting B'Elanna filtered through Tom's irritation. However, feeling too weary to do anything about it, he did nothing but silently tap commands into the console. 

As the fifth test began to run, Paris stared unseeingly at the results filling the console's screen. A heavy mist of uncomfortable memories covered his mind and he was unable to shake himself free. His thoughts were filled with the chaotic dream he'd woken from with a start earlier that morning. It had been a violent, fast-paced dream that had left him exhausted. The images continued to swirl in his mind even now.

He had dreamt of _Voyager_ in battle with the alien vessel that had featured in the dream he'd had the night before. To begin with he'd been at the helm, struggling with the rest of _Voyager_'s crew, then later he'd been on board the other vessel, stood next to Tira, watching the fight through the window in the dim corridor. From then on he'd spent one instant in one place and the next in the other. 

The Narcian vessel had been heavier and larger, and so not as manoeuvrable as the _Intrepid_-class starship. But its firepower had been astonishing. With every blast that hit her, _Voyager _staggered and something broke. It wasn't long before the shields were down and the warp core was offline. The Narcians had boarded via their own transportation device and enforced surrender from Captain Janeway. Tom along with the rest of the crew was then transported to the Narcian ship. The last thing he'd seen, which had scared him awake, was the death of B'Elanna.

She'd retaliated when treated roughly by a Narcian warrior escorting them through the ship, another guard had instantly fired an energy weapon and, before Tom had fully taken in what had happened, B'Elanna lay dead at his feet. Sickness had welled up within him as he looked down into the still, blankly staring face of his love, and the shock brought him to consciousness.

The relief he'd felt realising it had only been a dream had been immense. Yet, seeing B'Elanna alive didn't make him rejoice, as he knew he should. Instead, whenever he saw her now, the painful image of her lifeless body laid where it had fallen on the Narcian ship filled his mind.

Paris considered going to The Doctor. He might be able to shed some light on why he was having these nightmares and put a stop to them. Yet, his pride didn't like that idea. He decided to see how he slept the next night and reconsider tomorrow. After all, two nights of bad sleep wasn't something to start raving about. Worse things could - and did - happen, especially in the Delta Quadrant. 

*

Officers Paris, Torres and Kim left engineering and headed for the mess hall to have a long over-due lunch. As they walked, Torres tapped her combadge and gave the captain a report on their progress.

"We've finally managed to find a way to compensate for the distortions. We'll have the warp drive running by this evening," Torres announced. She went on to explain that they'd worked out that a complex electromagnetic current had passed through the wormhole, which meant it had been unquestionably artificial in nature.

B'Elanna's voice seemed to get further and further away to Tom. Then, suddenly, it was as though he was plunged underwater.

Tom's chest heaved as he struggled to draw breath. His vision slipped into a tunnel, then rapidly faded to blankness. He was distantly aware of his legs crumpling beneath him and felt himself fall. At the same time, even more dimly, he heard B'Elanna and Harry cry out his name.

Tom didn't feel himself hit the floor.

.

Paris opened his eyes. A light danced high above him and the face of _Voyager_'s EMH swam into view.

"Tom?" A soft feminine voice he'd never heard before, yet he felt as though he'd known it all his life.

He turned his head so he could see her. Beside his biobed stood Tira.

Tom sat up sharply. At once, he doubled over in agony, clutching his left ribs. 

When the burning pain had stopped searing through him, Tom slowly straightened and took his hands away from his side. He could feel something wet on them, so held them palm-upwards to look. They were red with blood. The cause of the pain was revealed to be a deep wound in his side.

"What. . .what, what. . .?" Tom struggled to know what to ask first.

Tira touched his shoulder. "You tried to escape, remember?"

"What? No. Why would I. . .what do you mean?"

"We can't let it happen, Tom," Tira said, seriously. "We've got to change your future."

"What are you talking about?" Tom asked, desperately. "Where am I?"

The Doctor stepped forward and pressed a hypospray against his neck.

"No! What's in that?" Tom cried. He edged backwards, away from them. "Where am I?!"

.

"You're in sickbay, Mr Paris," a calm voice said. The Doctor, Tom's sluggish mind registered.

"Tom, it's ok." B'Elanna.

Tom's eyes flew open. B'Elanna, Harry and The Doctor were looking down at him. He bolted upright. His hand went to his left side, but there was no pain, no wound.

"What happened?" Tom asked, his voice unsteady.

"You passed out in the corridor," B'Elanna told him, worry written clearly over her face.

"You're exhausted and dehydrated," The Doctor told him. "But I don't think that was the cause or at least not the only factors. Scans showed that whilst you were unconscious there was a lot of brain activity, like that shown during a Vulcan mind meld. I even detected a flash of what could have been another brain pattern just before you awoke."

"I had the weirdest dream. . .Tira. . .what did she mean? What does she want?"

"Is he lucid?" Harry asked The Doctor.

"I believe so," the EMH answered. He touched Tom's shoulder to make sure he gained his attention. "Lieutenant Paris."

Tom met his eyes. "Doc, what's going on?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out. Start from the beginning. Tell me everything you know."

Paris told of all that he'd experienced regarding Tira from when he'd had the first nightmare two nights ago. When he'd finished, he looked from The Doctor to B'Elanna to Harry, hoping that someone could explain what was happening to him. But they all looked back with nothing but concern for him on their faces.

"I'm relieving you of duty until this has been resolved," The Doctor said, quietly. "It could somehow be a result of that head injury you sustained, but I can find no sign of any damage still remaining. I'm going to run some more tests. Lie back down."


	3. Part Three

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PART THREE

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**__**

Stardate: 53945.1

Tom Paris tugged furiously at the iron bars that imprisoned him. The cage was orange with rust, yet his attempts to twist and shift the metal poles achieved nothing but to reopen the sores on his hands. He gave the bars one last strong pull, then threw up his arms angrily and gave a cry of frustration and anguish.

He wiped the blood and rust flakes off his hands onto his tattered Starfleet uniform, hissing at the stinging from the cuts and blisters. Tom shuffled the short distance to the bench at the back of the cell, the shackles adding bruising to bruising on his ankles. With a dejected sigh, he sank down onto the low wooden block and stared down at the damp floor, his eyes disinterestedly following the patchy patterns of ice and mould.

The sound of soft footsteps brought his head up. Recognising the figure tentatively emerging from the gloom, Tom sprung forward almost leaping at the rails.

"Tira!"

"_Shh!_" the Narcian slave whispered, urgently. "I shouldn't be here."

"Tira, you've got to get me out of here!" Tom said, barely managing to keep his voice down.

"Oh, Tom," she replied, sorrowfully. "You know I can't. They'd kill you!"

"Not if I kill them first." There was an uncharacteristic, dangerous rage in his words.

"Don't throw your life away in a craze," Tira half-instructed, half-pleaded. 

"They killed B'Elanna," he said, his voice threatening to break. Then the deadly anger returned as he added, "I saw the guard's expression as he fired that shot. He killed her out of intolerance."

"Dying won't bring her back," Tira replied, gently.

"Doesn't your race believe in an afterlife?" Tom asked, not caring for an answer.

"There's still hope for you. The ship may return to Narcia and offload some of the workers to be reassigned. We could escape during the transfer."

"I don't want to just escape," he told her. "I want to take the ship. I want Narcian blood on my hands."

"You want to die," Tira clarified.

"And take them with me," Tom admitted, coldly.

The horrendously thin, rag-clothed Narcian looked worriedly at the angry and suicidal young man. 

Tom saw himself through her eyes and knew her thoughts. Mistreatment and grief were draining him, and he was gaining quite a collection on minor wounds from the general inhospitality of his situation increased by his attempts to escape. Yet, there was a defiant streak to his nature, intensified by his anger and need to avenge his love's cruel murder. He would fight to the end. 

For a wild fleeting moment, Tira considered the possibility that this man could defeat the high odds stacked against him and save them all. But then reality returned. He would die. And join his love in the after-world. Maybe death would be best for them all. It would be so easy to turn the ship into a blazing ball of fire, as bright as Narcia's suns. But, no, that wasn't the way. She couldn't and wouldn't let them win.

"Tira. . ." Tom reached through the bars and took her hands. Even in his gentle grasp they shook, a side-effect of being constantly chilled to the bone. He sighed. He sure had a lot to look forward too. How did this girl keep her determination?

"There has to be another way," Tira insisted.

Tom sighed again. "Tell me what you know," he said, wearily.

.

Tom knew weeks had passed when he found himself crouched in a dark corridor with the Narcian equivalent of a Starfleet phaser in his hands. Beside him Tira frantically punched commands into a console panel, as the deep thudding sound of the heavy footsteps of approaching guards grew louder and louder.

"Hurry!" Tom hissed, urgently.

"I am!" Tira protested. Her fingers flurried across the buttons and then she hit a flashing red key with finality. "There, done."

"Go! Go!" Tom urged, as the hydraulics raised the door in front of them.

They scrabbled under the unhurriedly rising panel, just as the guards turned the corner and had them in sight. The pair of escapees dashed down the next corridor, hearing their pursuers break into a run behind them. The unmistakable sound of the hindering door being blasted away by a powerful sonic rifle sent them skidding around the next bends in the maze of tunnels.

They came to a halt in front of another door. Tira hastily entered a series of complex codes into the panel on the wall. Suddenly, an alarm sounded and lights fitted around the corridor flashed red. 

"_Incorrect code. Incorrect code. Security breach! Section 44-Alpha. Intruder alert! Intruder alert!_" a computerised voice declared loudly all over the ship.

Tira cursed strongly, but set about setting her error right even as the stream of obscenities escaped her lips.

The alarm was cut off and the door began to rise. Not waiting for a suitable amount of elevation, they slid under the entrance into a room full of high-tech equipment. Control panels and screens bordered the room and in the centre a circular unit projected colourful fluidic energy into the air. 

Tira desperately looked around for the console she wanted. A beam of energy lanced through the air just missing them and grazed the edge of a unit. Tira exchanged a distressed glance with Tom, then realised that those were the controls she was looking for.

"Don't worry, I'll cover you," Tom said, taking up a defensive stance by the door.

Tira hurriedly got to work, while Tom exchanged fire with the guards. There were six armed with standard phasers and one with a sonic rifle, but the warrior seemed unwilling to use the extensively destructive weapon for fear of damaging the valuable equipment in the room. However, Tom was still grossly outnumbered and outgunned. He sent two guards down, but the Narcians' energy beams were getting far too close for comfort. 

Whirling noises started up from somewhere, indicating that Tira was making progress. He only needed to give her a little more time. 

But then a burning pain seared through Tom's chest and everything went tumbling into blackness.

.

.

To B'Elanna Torres's extreme relief, a flicker ran from Tom's pale blue-grey lips across his white cheek and his eyelids fluttered.

"Tom," she encouraged, stroking a damp strand of fair hair back into place.

His eyes opened and he blearily looked up at her. 

"B'Elanna! Oh, thank God!" he cried, relieved, eagerly catching her wrist.

She was taken aback. "Tom, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing!" He grew more cheerful as his own words sunk in. "You're alive! I'm alive, and we're on _Voyager_. What could be better?" He sat up, wanting to see her better. Vertigo swept over him. "Wooooah. . ." he muttered, woozy.

B'Elanna took hold of his shoulders and pulled him against her to support him. 

"Steady," she belatedly cautioned.

The dizziness and nausea passed and Tom pulled back. The startling exuberance was gone and his eyes were now troubled and sober.

"That was quite a nightmare," he told B'Elanna.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, gently.

"No, not really. I'd rather just forget it."

"Ok."

"What time is it?" Tom asked, rhetorically, as he glanced at the clock on his bedside cabinet. "08:00. . .shouldn't you be on duty?"

B'Elanna brushed the idea aside. "I'll go in a minute. Do you want something to eat?"

"Not just yet. I'll get something from the replicator later." Tom lay back down. "You should get going. I'll be fine." He smiled reassuringly.

"Alright," B'Elanna agreed, getting up from the edge of the bed. "Take it easy, ok? I'll meet you in the mess hall at 12:00 for lunch, if you feel up to it."

"Ok, see you later."

B'Elanna leant down and lightly kissed his pale forehead, he smiled up at her tiredly. She smiled back and turned to leave.

"I love you," Tom suddenly called, as she reached the door.

B'Elanna looked back over her shoulder. "I love you too, Tom." 

The door swished open and she left.

.

As B'Elanna entered the turbolift she heard someone hurrying after her and held the door for the approaching dark-haired ensign.

"How is he?" Harry Kim asked at once.

"Engineering," B'Elanna ordered the computer. She reluctantly turned to the young man stood beside her. "Not good," she replied. "He woke up more exhausted than when he went to sleep." 

"The Doctor still hasn't be able to shed any light on why he collapsed yesterday? Or what's causing these nightmares?"

"No," she said, softly, her voice becoming unwillingly choked with emotion.

"Try not to worry," Harry told her, his voice and expression showing that he needed that advice as much as she did.

B'Elanna suddenly stopped holding back. "Oh, Harry!" she cried. "I was so scared!"

Harry turned to her, concerned. "What happened?" he asked, gently taking hold of her arm.

"I couldn't wake him. I was scared he'd never come out of it," B'Elanna confessed, her voice uncontrollably rising. "I had just tapped my combadge to call sickbay, when he came around."

"Is he still wearing a cortical monitor?"

"I think so. . . Yes, he is. But it should have stopped anything like that happening! Oh no, do you think it's malfunctioning? I should go back and check. . ."

"Wait. It probably just means that he was only in a deep sleep," Harry assured her.

"You're right. I'm being silly. It's just. . ."

"I know." Silently, he added, 'I'm worried too.'

*

A plate of rice had never looked less appetising. Tom's stomach groaned in protest about not being fed, but at the same time it churned, warning that if he even tried to tempt it with food it would toss it straight back. He sighed, and took a sip of water instead. Even that made him feel queasy, so he gave in and set the glass back down on the mess hall table.

Hearing B'Elanna arrive, he looked up and greeted her with a wan smile. "Hey."

"Hey," she responded, sitting down opposite him and dropping several padds on the table. "How are you feeling?"

"Like. . .like. . ." His tired mind couldn't manage to come up with a witty comparison. "Bad."

B'Elanna smiled, sympathetically.

"But I'll be ok." Tom didn't want sympathy and definitely not pity. He just wanted the pounding in his head to stop.

"Good afternoon, B'Elanna!" Neelix said with good humour, approaching their table.

"Is it?" Tom mumbled, miserably. Then he remembered he didn't want pity and looked back down at his plate.

"What would you like to eat?" Neelix inquired.

"Uh, I don't know. What have you got?" B'Elanna asked.

"Well there's plenty of rice left and I've just made some Tocaa bean sauce to go with it," the Talaxian offered. "How's the rice, Tom?"

Tom was playing with his fork. He pushed the rice around, putting it into piles and flattening it out again. 

"Hmm," he said, looking up and attempted to show appreciation.

Concern for the lieutenant caused Neelix's cheerfulness to falter and he didn't know what to say. He was a good morale officer, yet with someone suffering from an unanswerable medical disorder he found himself flailing in an area of unknown.

"The rice and sauce would be great, Neelix," B'Elanna said, relieving him.

"Coming up!" he promised, brightly. He gave Tom one last troubled glance, then scurried off to his kitchen.

Tom got bored with his rice and let the fork clatter down onto the plate. He leant back in his chair and indicated the collection of padds in front of B'Elanna. "Is the warp field holding all right?"

"Yes," she replied, glad that he'd supplied a topic of discussion. "Containment efficiency has dropped four percent from the optimum it reached when the shields were reconfigured. But by re-calibrating it every half an hour, we're able to stop it falling any further. I'd be sceptical about safely achieving warp nine, but we're currently moving at warp four, which we'll have no trouble maintaining."

"Nice to know. I expect we'll be making first contact with the alien vessel soon."

B'Elanna nodded. "Harry says we'll be within range in a couple of hours. I wonder who they are."

"Probably Narcians."

"The race from your dreams?" B'Elanna asked, uncomfortably.

"Yeah. I hope not though," Tom said, gloomily.

"Why? They might be able to explain what's been happening to you." 

"If it is them, then our future is rather bleak," Tom understated.

"You don't know that," B'Elanna protested, not wanting to believe him. "They might be - "

She cut off as Tom sharply stood up.

"She's coming," he said, staring ahead at nothing.

"What? Who?"

"Tira. She's coming. I've got to get to the bridge," he told her, halfway to the door already.

"How do you know? What's going on?" 

Tom was too preoccupied to answer and exited the mess hall without looking back.

"Tom, wait!" B'Elanna cried, running after him.

.

"Mister Tuvok, distance to the alien ship?" Janeway inquired.

"Captain!" Harry cried, before the Vulcan could answer.

The bridge crew turned to look at the ensign, wondering what had alarmed him. They followed his wide-eyed gaze to see the blue-silver light of a figure materialising in front of the main screen. 

Before their startled eyes a female humanoid formed. She had ginger-tinted skin, furry pointed ears, gold lips and delicate pretty features. Long, thick waves of fiery auburn hair cascaded halfway down her back. She wore a beige long-sleeved top under a brown v-necked dress with a pale-blue sash tied around her slender waist. Knee-length beige socks and brown leather sandals covered her feet. On her left upper-arm was The Doctor's mobile holo-emitter.

"I am Xar-cet-Mir-ar Tira," the alien girl announced, smiling warmly. "It's a joy to see you again, Captain Janeway."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Janeway asked, bewildered and slightly annoyed.

"Security to the bridge," Tuvok ordered over the ship's communication system.

Suddenly Tom burst out of the turbolift, followed more slowly by B'Elanna. 

"There's no need for that, Tuvok," he said, breathlessly. "Tira's here to save us."

Chakotay frowned. "Save us from what exactly, Mister Paris? I wasn't aware that we were in any danger."

"That's the point," he said, hurrying over to the helm. "We've got to stop the ship!"

The pilot on duty, Ensign Yates, looked to the captain for confirmation. Janeway shook her head sharply. 

"Lieutenant, explain yourself," Captain Janeway demanded, crossly. "Who is this alien and what is she doing on my bridge?"

"We can't go near that ship!" Paris yelled, lunging for the helm controls.

Ensign Yates tried to shield the console from him, but he roughly pushed her aside.

"Lieutenant!" Janeway all but screamed, furious.

The ensign and Tom continued to fight over the controls, as Tuvok strode purposefully across the bridge with a phaser in his hand.

"Mister Paris, move away from the console or I will fire," the Vulcan warned, aiming the weapon at the harried lieutenant.

"You don't understand! We have to stop right here!" Paris cried, irritated.

"Mister Paris," Tuvok said, in a tone that made it clear this was his last caution.

"Alright! Alright!" the younger man said, stepping back from the console, raising his hands in submission.

Just then the turbolift doors slid open again, emitting two security personnel onto the bridge.

"Take Lieutenant Paris to the brig," Tuvok ordered them.

The two crewmen stepped forward, but Janeway held up a hand. 

Tom, however, didn't notice and was already backing away. "Hey, no! You can't do that!" 

Without hesitation Tuvok fired. 

The orange energy beam grazed Tom's right shoulder, sending a numbing force through him. He fell to his knees. For a few seconds he swayed as he tried to keep from fainting, then tipped backwards onto his back. 

B'Elanna knelt at Tom's side, anxiously watching him as he fought to keep consciousness. Tom looked past her shoulder up at Tuvok.

"That was a poor shot, Tuvok," he said, weakly.

B'Elanna turned to glare at the security chief. Didn't he realise that Tom was in poor shape as it was? He didn't need someone shooting him! Then she noticed the small hint of emotion in the Vulcan's eyes. Tuvok had actually intentionally spared Tom. The shot had meant to be poor, for he had wanted to stun him as least as possible. Her expression softened and her lips offered a suggestion of a smile.

"Is Tom alright?" 

All eyes turned to the owner of the unfamiliar voice.

"What have you done to him?" Tira asked, moving towards Tom.

B'Elanna stood up to face her. "How about what you've done? I take it you're Tira," she said, coldly.

"I. . .I. . ." For a moment the alien girl appeared to be overcome with guilt. But her expression cleared and then became resolute. "The future is a lot worse," she justified. She turned to Captain Janeway, "That's why I'm here."

Janeway was relieved that it seemed she was finally going to be given some answers. 

"Ok," she said, taking a hold of things. "Security, dismissed. Does Tom need medical assistance?"

"I think I can get up now," Paris said, somewhat uncertain. He accepted B'Elanna's help and slowly got to his feet.

"We need to stop _right_ now," Tira said, panicked, staring at the helm display. "We'll be within range of the _Dominator_'s sensors any minute!"

"Very well," Janeway relented. "Ensign Yates, all stop."

Tira and Tom let out a collective sigh of relief, as Voyager came out of warp and slowed until she held position at a sufficiently safe distance from the other ship.

"Now- " Janeway was cut short by a bleep from the com system.

"_The Doctor to the bridge. Captain, I'd like to report a theft!_"

"Doctor, I'm a little busy ri- "

"_Someone has stolen my mobile emitter! A ship-wide search must be carried out immediately!_"

"That will not be necessary."

"_What?! Captain, don't you realise the seriousness of this? How would you like it if someone- _"

"Doctor, it will not be necessary because I know where your emitter is."

"_You do? Where? I demand to have it returned at once!_"

"It's right in front of me. Someone else is currently using it. However, I can assure you that it will be returned to you as soon as possible."

"_It's being used by someone else? Why did no one consult me first? This is outrageous! How-_"

"Janeway out." 

The captain sighed. "Can someone please explain what's going on?" 

She looked to Tira then Tom. Her lieutenant was swaying on his feet, despite B'Elanna's steadying hand, and it was doubtful that she would be able to hold him when his legs gave way, which would be any minute. Janeway gently steered him to a chair. He sat down gratefully, then opened his mouth to protest as he discovered that he was sat in _her_ chair, but realised that a change would involve standing up again and so abruptly shut it.

"I am of a race known as the Narcians. The vessel ahead is a Narcian Empire ship, aptly named _Dominator_," Tira said, relaxing into an explanation now that there was no threat of a too early confrontation. "I was - and, in this time, I still am - a slave aboard that ship. An Empire commander enslaves alien races to work aboard his vessel when his supply runs low, which is rather often due to the conditions the slaves are kept and work in. Commander Hane of the _Dominator_ currently has a low supply. 

"The _Dominator_ may not be as manoeuvrable as _Voyager_, but it is extremely powerfully gunned and the commanding crew are relentless barbarians. You will be defeated and have no choice but to surrender. Many of you will die." She glanced at B'Elanna, guessing who she was. "And many of you will wish that you were dead," she said, looking forlornly at Tom. 

"Only now that doesn't have to be the case. The _Dominator_ is equipped with experimental wormhole technology. And it works." Tira grinned, happily. "It allows an electromagnetic signal to be sent back in time. I used it to send myself back to here. Unfortunately, as of yet, physical form cannot be transferred. Therefore, I am here in an entity-like state, using your holographic technology to show myself to you."

"You don't look much like a mistreated slave," Chakotay pointed out.

"This is how she was," Tom said, "before they wrongly enslaved her." 

"How did you come to be a slave?" Janeway asked the Narcian.

"It was five years ago," Tira replied. "I accidentally missed the curfew. All children in the street after the sinking of the second sun are considered orphans and automatically enslaved by the Empire Fleet, no questions asked, no checks made. None of the general public know the state of the slaves aboard the ships. They believe that the children are given a better life. The Fleet officers are thought to be gallant heroes.

"With your help, I could take control of the _Dominator_ and expose the cruelty of the Fleet to my people."

"But how?" Harry Kim asked, looking up from his analysis of Tira's electromagnetic code displayed at his station. "No offence, but you're basically a computer program and there's another version of you aboard that ship. Can you exist twice in one timeline?"

"I will need to be merged with my physical self." She laughed at their sceptical faces. "Don't worry, I was an exceptional astrophysics student and studying for a degree in spatial-temporal-physics when I was taken by the Empire Fleet."

"What have you been doing to Tom?" B'Elanna demanded to know.

"I needed time," Tira explained. "I was. . .disorientated after the transfer. This is a strange existence. I needed something familiar to latch onto, to focus myself. Also I needed for you to be prepared, I needed at least one of you to believe. Otherwise by the time you trusted me, it would have been too late.

"I was able to tap into Tom's mind and merge with him. I showed him things and let him know about me."

"Why Tom?" B'Elanna asked, still not trusting her.

"I. . .we. . .he helped me to get here. In the future, after _Voyager_ was captured, we planned a way of preventing it all from happening." Her expression clouded over with troubled memories. "He loves you very much, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna was stunned to silence, not knowing what to think.

"We need to formulate the rest of the plan," Tira said, turning to Captain Janeway. She glanced at the helm display. "The _Dominator_ will break orbit in two hours and its course will lead it straight toward us."

"You mean you don't have everything worked out?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Uh. . .no." Tira looked down. "We, um, only got this far."

Janeway took a deep breath. "Never mind," she said, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."


	4. Part Four

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I'm so sorry that it has taken me so long to update! I had most of this chapter written ages ago, but it has taken me a long time to get back into it and complete it. (You see, my muse and I were 'kidnapped' by an incredibly hot, eighteenth century pirate captain by the name of Jack Sparrow.) A thousand apologies!

********

****

Part Four

********

**__**

Stardate: 53945.6

With all, including the finer details, of a rescue and attack plan worked out, _Voyager_'s senior staff and Tira left the briefing room they had relocated to.

Stepping back out onto the bridge, Tom reached up to remove the unneeded cortical monitor from the top of his neck behind his right ear. The movement painfully shifted the damaged skin on his shoulder causing him to wince. His fingers found the circular medical instrument and pulled it off easily. Looking ahead as he followed the others, he lowered his arm.

He gasped as a stinging pain blazed through his arm as the phaser burn was pulled open. His left hand instinctively grabbed the wound and tried to squeeze the pain away.

Tom felt a supporting hand take hold of his uninjured shoulder and guide him off the bridge.

"Sickbay," Janeway commanded, as Tira dashed in after them, and the turbolift began its decent. "We'll get that arm sorted out before we go any further."

Paris didn't protest.

In sickbay, The Doctor scowled alternatively at Tira, for stealing his mobile emitter, and the captain, for doing nothing about it. Guilty, the Narcian shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, while Janeway plain ignored him.

Tom perched on the edge of a bed and the EMH flicked on a dermal regenerator. A gentle, warm sensation replaced the discomfort in Tom's arm and the pain lines in his face lessened.

While The Doctor aimed a particularly long glare at Tira, Tom swiftly reached over to a trolley of vials and hyposprays. With practised ease, he drew up a dose of stimulant and had injected himself before The Doctor noticed. Alerted by the hiss of the emptying hypo', the EMH whirled around and gave Paris a heated glare full of anger that he saved especially for him. He snatched the instrument away, but it was too late for him to do anything about it. 

"Stimulants are just a quick fix," The Doctor scolded. "You should be resting in bed."

"No time for that, Doc," Tom said, his expression a mixture of shame and a smirk.

"It'll catch up with you later," the medical hologram stated, crossly.

"Well, I'll just have to deal with it then," Tom replied, his tone gaining an irritated edge.

Janeway went to admonish her lieutenant for taking his medical care into his own hands. But then remembered behaving similarly herself the month before. Plus he was needed on the away team, she justified.

Watching Tom slide off the bed, Tira realised what poor shape he was in due to lack of sleep and mental draining. Damage that was her doing. Her face clouded with empathic pain.

"What have I done?" she wailed, softly.

Tom read her concerned expression and reached forward to take hold of her arms.

"Hey," he soothed, making her meet his eyes. "You're here to save us." 

"I…" Tira protested, meekly.

"Pull yourself together," Tom said, his voice gentle but firm. "It's time to get this show on the road."

*

"Your personnel have not arrived at the designated point," Commander Hane told Tuvok, contempt and irritation slurring his voice.

"We are attempting to rectify the problem," the Vulcan replied, evenly looking up at the image of the Narcian that filled the bridge's main screen.

B'Elanna dashed about around him, going from control panel to control panel.

"The damn transporters are on the blink the again…" she crossly muttered, seemingly to herself, but loud enough for the inter-ship com to pick up and transmit to the _Dominator_.

"I will send my security team to find them," Hane barked, growing impatient. 

"No!" B'Elanna cried, angrily, meeting the image of the Narcian's eyes. 

Commander Hane quirked an eyebrow.

"I will fix it," she declared, venomously. "I will not be beaten."

A smirk pulled across the Narcian's face and he leant back in his command chair, his arms folded across his chest. 

.

Tira led Captain Janeway, Tom, Chakotay and Harry through the lower levels of the _Dominator_.

Uneasily, Janeway noted that Tom knew the route as well as the Narcian. It bothered her that she didn't fully understand what had happened to him or how the holographic Tira was able to exist. However, what bothered her more at that moment was the condition of her surroundings.

A grey haze filled the air that seemed to strip a thin layer from her lungs with each breath she took. Masses of steaming pipes rose up the walls and bent over her head, with smeared glass faces of pressure gauges at seemingly irregular intervals. Coatings of rust and the dim lighting gave everything a shade of dirty orange. The corridor gradually widened into huge room filled with hissing pipes and humming machines. The machinery was a strange blend of metal cogs and pistons in a variety of sizes, crystals pulsating with yellow light and clear tubing filled with an iridescent red fluid.

Hundreds of workers shuffled about in the vast room, each of them hunched over with exhaustion, severely undernourished and clothed in rags. Narcians and a wide range of other unknown humanoid species made up the slave force. The guards spread amongst them were easily identified by their bulky straight-backed figures, neat black uniforms, the clubs they held ready to beat any slave that faltered and, most of all, their arrogant manner.

Quiet and unseen, the four Humans followed Tira into a smaller hatch to avoid the guards. They found themselves in the _Dominator_'s much more unpleasant equivalent of a Jefferies tube. Quickly, they began to ascend the conduit. Sweat soon beaded on their foreheads and trickled down their backs. Each touch of the ladder's hot rungs resulted in painful pink skin that threatened to blister.

Eventually, they stepped off the ladder into a large vent. They crawled along inside the metal tunnel, the walls scorching their knees, hands and shoulders. The vent led to another ladder, which they descended until Tira opened a hatch.

They stepped out to find themselves on the other side of the vast room, hidden behind stacks of plastic crates.

Tira and Paris peered around the crates, their eyes searching the workers for a particular slave.

"There I am," Tira said, pointing towards her counterpart bent over a control panel to their left.

The two of them, followed by Janeway, Chakotay and Harry, edged around the side of the crates.

Tom checked that none of the slaves and particularly none of the guards were looking, then took a step into the open. "Tira," he called in a whisper.

The Narcian slave turned towards the sound of her name in surprise. Tom held a finger to his lips and she obediently closed her mouth before any sound could escape. He motioned with his hand for her to follow him behind the crates. She nodded, looked around her, then silently hurried after him.

Once safely behind the crates, the Narcian glared defensively at Paris. "Who are you? How do you know my-" Her second question died on her lips at the sight of the holographic version of herself. "Great Light…" she breathed, her gaunt face bleached by shock.

The holographic Tira stared back at the organic version of herself with fascination. Tom looked at the malnourished slave with a haunted expression, the memories that the time-travelling Tira had given him surfacing afresh.

With the former unofficial leaders of the expedition seeming to have lost the ability to speak, it was Captain Janeway that the Narcian girl sensed as the leader and looked to for an explanation.

As best she could, Janeway quickly explained what had happened and what they were trying to do. All eyes watched as the girl processed the information, wondering how they could convince her of the truth of the bizarre situation.

The Narcian frowned, thoughtful. "That's…that's…that's…possible."

Her unexpected reply took a while to sink in, then even the hologram was pleasantly surprised.

Wasting no time for further conversation, the holographic Tira opened a nearby hatch in desperate need of oil and they all stepped through into a dark corridor.

Brown paint peeled from the corridor's bulkheads, leaving bare patches of dull metal, and the still air tasted of damp decay and all but turned their exposed skin to ice. The dark metal of the deck was slick with frost, but grizzly moss offered enough grip for them to keep their footing. They could see _Voyager_ through the narrow windows that were fitted along one wall. 

Eventually, the long corridor ended with another hatch that led to a maze of cold metal conduits and vents. Captain Janeway could do nothing but follow the holographic Tira. It wasn't until they exited the narrow tunnels and were hurrying through the well-maintained corridors of the upper decks that Janeway was able to just about follow the simpler route from memorised schematics of the _Dominator_. The hologram led the way to the time-travel room to merge the two versions of herself together, but it would be Captain Janeway that took over and led them back out. The holographic version had warned that the Narcian would be unlikely to aid them until her memories had settled properly, which could take hours.

They managed to get to their destination without mishap, and the hologram typed in the code to open the doors. Once they were all inside and the doors were safely closed again, the holographic Tira headed for a control panel, while Janeway, Chakotay and Harry stared at the projection of colourful fluidic energy in the centre of the room with awe.

Having finished setting up the device, the holographic Tira approached her counterpart. Her fingers curled around the mobile emitter and pulled it from her sleeve. Instantly she disappeared, leaving the emitter to fall into the nervous girl's waiting hands. 

Tira stared down at the small device lying on her palm, as bright light flared out into the room and she was coated in a rainbow of colours. An electric force struck her. The girl's green eyes widened and she gasped sharply. 

The waterfall of colour receded, leaving the painfully thin girl trembling. Tom caught her as her knees gave way and carefully lowered her to the floor.

"Tira?" he questioned, stroking strands of dirty auburn hair from her sweat-soaked face.

Her eyelids fluttered crazily, her eyes moving rapidly beneath them.

Gradually they stilled, then opened and focused on Tom's anxious face. Her lips slid into a weak smile.

"It worked," she told him.

Tom helped Tira to her feet. She gripped his arm tightly, swaying for a few moments, gathering her balance. The others waited patiently until the Narcian was able to stand steadily alone, then Janeway motioned for them all to follow her out of the room.

The four Starfleet officers and Tira hurriedly made for the engineering office, intending to render the _Dominator_'s shields and weapons offline. However, upon reaching a T-junction in the corridor, they were met by an armed group of ten guards who, it became quickly apparent, had been sent to apprehend them. 

They hastily ducked back around the corner with fatal green energy beams narrowly missing them. Orange-red Starfleet phaser fire joined in to create a colourful and deadly display.

Paris shielded Tira with his body, as she cowered unarmed against the wall. He poked his head around the corner and shot a guard at close range.

"They're advancing, Captain!" Paris cried, as the Narcian guard fell down at his feet.

"Do their weapons have a wide-field function?" Janeway asked, shouting above the sound of streaking phasers.

"No, they only have one setting," Tom replied, while a terrified Tira struggled to find her voice.

Paris picked up the fallen guard's weapon and turned to press it into Tira's hand. Her eyes widened in alarm. 

"I-I can't…"

"Yes, you can," Tom told her, staring deep into her eyes. "Remember what you did in the…future."

Memories filled her pretty face. 

"I remember," she said, her voice gaining strength and she tightened her grip on the phaser. She smiled grimly. "I can do this."

When the captain gave the order, together the five of them surged around the corner meeting the guards head on with the Starfleet phasers firing on wide-beam.

All of the remaining nine guards fell down to join their comrade.

Suddenly a green beam seared through the air, scarcely missing Janeway's head, as she turned to see another team of guards approaching them from behind.

Instinctively she fired back, as she yelled for her crew to draw back towards the next bend in the corridor. Firing over their shoulders, they ran for the shelter of the turning. 

However, the draining events of the last few days had taken their toll on Tom Paris's strength and reaction time. Despite the adrenaline surging through his blood, he didn't see the fallen guard reaching for his ankle and was unable to stop himself from falling down when his balance was tipped.

Tom fell hard, knocking the wind out of his chest. He didn't have enough breath to call for help, as he watched the others disappear around the corner without noticing that he wasn't with them.

Coughing, he slowly rose to his feet and aimed his phaser at the line of guards.

"It's on wide-field," he told them in a gasping shout. "I can take you all out in one shot."

The guards kept their weapons steadily pointed at him, but hesitated to take any action, not wanting to provoke him into firing.

Swiftly the group parted to let through another Narcian, who walked tall with an arrogant air of authority.

"Take him to Interrogation Room One," the Narcian instructed.

Paris shifted his phaser's aim onto this newcomer, presuming that he was the senior officer, and started to protest, "I don'–"

He wasn't aware of the guard creeping up behind him until pain seared through his body. He cried out in agony and the phaser tumbled from his hand to the floor.

As two pairs of strong hands gripped his arms, Tom kicked out viscously, but the cold mouth of a metal barrel against his neck forced him into reluctant submission.

*

Interrogation Room One was a windowless, square-shaped room. As well as there being an absence of windows, there were no vents either. Only a communication grill, a metal chair and suspicious dark stains broke the plain grey walls, ceiling and floor. The air was stale and had preserved the stench of a decade of bloody interrogations. 

The younger guards were dismissed by the chief who Paris had heard referred to as Officer Yicks. After a black case was handed to the senior officer, the metal door clicked closed behind them leaving three officers in the room with Tom.

Yicks opened the case and withdrew a vial of blue liquid and a small instrument consisting of a clear bulb-shaped compartment and a long, thin needle. After filling the chamber with the fluid, Yicks motioned to the broad-shouldered Narcian pressing Tom against the wall. The guard let go of Tom with his thick hands and pushed his substantial weight through his shoulder against Tom's chest instead. He used his free hands to hold up the prisoner's left arm and pull back the sleeve to reveal the unprotected skin to his chief. As Tom choked beneath the crushing pressure of the guard, Yicks stabbed the needle into the exposed inner side of his forearm and the blue drug surged into his circulatory system. 

Tom felt the drug take effect almost instantly. The chemical burned through his veins, tightened his chest and filled his brain with a numbing cold that shut out the majority of his senses.

Sensing the successful change in the prisoner, the heavy guard pushed himself off the weak Human who subsequently fell limply to the floor. With a grunt of disgust, the guard bent down and dragged Tom up into a slouch against the wall.

The large officer stepped back to stand beside the attentively watching Yicks, and was replaced by a wiry Narcian who gracefully folded down into crouch in front of Tom. He peered curiously at the prisoner, his manner peaceful but unnerving in a way Tom couldn't quite put his finger on. Unlike the others, when he spoke his tone was interested not demanding.

"These little round badges, do they reflect your position aboard your ship?" he asked, indicating the two pips pinned to Tom's collar.

The thickset guard growled in protest. "Dezrel, I don't see how this has any relevance to – "

The calm Narcian held up a silencing hand. 

"What is your rank?" he asked the prisoner.

"Lieutenant," Tom replied, numbly.

"To what station are you assigned?"

"Helm."

"Are you a good pilot?"

"I…I guess…" Tom stuttered, his eyes rolling drunkenly back into his head and floating down again. 

"Is the drug really necessary?" Dezrel snapped at his comrades.

"Yes. Dezrel, stand back," Officer Yicks ordered. He turned to the broad guard hovering above the prisoner like a vulture and gave a permitting gesture to go ahead, his mouth twisting with cruel pleasure. "Polaarus."

The muscular Narcian swept Tom up into a fireman's lift and dropped him onto the metal chair bolted to the floor. Then Yicks held him down with strong hands that pressed painfully into Tom's chest and shoulders, while Polaarus picked up thick pieces of rope fixed to the arms of the chair, threaded the cord into the loop and slipped one of Tom's limp wrists into it. He yanked and the material pulled tight, cutting into the flesh. Tom cried out and twisted in Yicks's hold, but there was no escape. 

Three further restraints were fastened to Paris's other arm and his ankles, so that the chair held him in a firm and painful embrace. 

Paris watched blearily as Polaarus took a step back and clicked his knuckles with a worrying manner of preparation.

Yicks stared menacingly into Tom's face. 

"Why are you really here?" he demanded.

Tom was grabbed roughly by the hair and his head was jerked back. 

"Have the Antranic Alliance sent you?" Polaarus snarled fiercely, his foul breath and spittle spraying Tom's pain-lined face. 

When the prisoner didn't respond, Polaarus yanked at his head again pressing his neck against the back of the chair.

"Don't break his neck," Officer Yicks cautioned. "Not yet."

Polaarus spat in Paris's face and tossed his head forward, back above his shoulders.

"Are you from the Antran system?" Dezrel's calm, reasonable voice asked. 

"No…no, I've never heard of it," Tom insisted.

Officer Yicks sighed with impatience and drew green fluid up into the injector. The needle pierced a second hole in Tom's arm and the new drug assaulted his insides. 

Flashes of light began to sporadically blind him, an assortment of muscles irregularly cramped into iron twists of agony, blood rushed to his head and picked up a pounding beat. Meanwhile, the three Narcians started up a bombardment of questions.

"What was your plan?"

"Where are the others?"

"Are there more vessels coming?"

"What were you going to do?"

"Has the Antranic Alliance proclaimed war against the Narcian Empire Fleet?"

Tom repeatedly swore that he didn't know, but they continued to persist.

"What is your security code?"

"Who are your leaders?"

"What weapons does the Alliance have at its disposal?"

"What other planets are supporting the Antrans?"

"How many warships does the Antranic Alliance have?"

"I don't know anything about the Antranic Alliance!" Tom wailed one last time.

Officer Yicks thoughtfully pulled at a fox-like ear. Then he dropped his hand and sighed, wearily.

"Chuck him in a cell," he ordered.

The senior Narcian strode from the room as Polaarus brought a concrete fist down onto the back of Tom's head.

*

Not knowing what woke him, Tom Paris slowly opened his eyes. He saw rust-coated bars above him and the ground was cold and slimy under his back. Familiarity sent alarm bells ringing, but he didn't know where he was or how he'd got there. 

Gradually recognition came and Tom realised with dread that he was in a Narcian cell. He groaned, dizzily wondering if all of _Voyager_'s crew had been enslaved.

The sound of phaser fire screeched with uncomfortable loudness through Tom's head and he rolled over onto his side. He struggled to focus his eyes on his friends on the other side of the bars and pushed himself up onto his knees. He staggered to his feet and wavered at the door that swung open in front of him.

Chakotay was smiling at him and indicating towards the open doorway that led out into the corridor.

Tom didn't feel able to move. He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell them about the overwhelming pressure in his head, the sickness that gripped his throat, the numbness in his limbs, the lights that danced maniacally in front of his eyes and the vice like grip inside his chest. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong with him.

Barely aware of his surroundings, Tom found himself silently walking on autopilot across the dimly lit room. That was what Chakotay wanted him to do. He forgot that they didn't know something was wrong and he hadn't told them.

As he reached the threshold, Tira stretched out a welcoming hand to take hold of his. She was smiling. Like Chakotay. Everyone was happy. 

Sharply, lucidly shot back bringing the message that no one knew he was feeling so unwell. 

Tira's smile slipped, concern filling her eyes. Tom saw her lips move in the shape of his name, but he heard nothing. She was falling away from him seemingly in slow motion, then to his surprise the floor jarred hard through his body causing his head to limply jerk to the side. He felt the icy moss on the floor brush his cheek, then his eyes wearily closed and he knew no more.

.

"What have they done? Oh, Great Light! What have they done?" Tira cried, distressed.

Frantically, she paced the short distance from one side of the corridor to the other, wringing her hands. 

"Do something!" she yelled at _Voyager_'s officers.

Kim roughly caught the girl's arm, halting her in mid-stride. Then Harry's eyes met Tira's and his grip softened. Tira staggered to regain her balance and then stilled. She stood trembling, fearfully watching Tom's friends trying to help him.

"Janeway to Voyager. Six to beam directly to sickbay." The captain's voice was tense, but controlled.

The horrors of the Narcian vessel turned into blue-silver light that became so bright that it crossed the upper limit and fell into total dark.

*

Listening to the biobed pick up Tom's erratic heartbeats and broadcast them into the room, Tira hugged herself tightly. Beside her Captain Janeway stood fretting to one side of sickbay's central computer access panel, giving The Doctor and Harry, who was assisting him, space to work.

A black arc rose from the sides of the bed and covered Tom's body. Harry loaded hyposprays and passed them to The Doctor. The EMH worked rapidly, his forehead creased in deep concentration, fighting to save Paris's life.

Eventually, Tom's pulse strengthened and steadied. The Doctor stepped back to review the data displayed on a nearby screen. 

Floating in a choppy sea of consciousness, Tom drew in a shaky breath. Then slowly his eyes opened and stared ahead unseeingly. His lips parted, and frail but unmistakable words tumbled out.

"The…Antranic Alliance…"

.

__

To be continued…


End file.
